


Shipping Packages

by savaged



Category: Electronic Dance Music RPF, Skrillex (Musician)
Genre: Adventure, Airplanes, EDM Mashup, M/M, New York, One Night Stands, POV Second Person, Romance, mentions of Martin Garrix and LA, night clubz, skrillmau5 - Freeform, yeah they miss each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-23
Updated: 2014-07-15
Packaged: 2018-02-05 20:12:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1830829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/savaged/pseuds/savaged
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You need to get away for some time, so your friends drag you to New York for a gig; though it's not because of your friends, or for a gig. Deadmau5 gets in the way.</p><p>Or, shortly resumed -of How Joel Persuaded Your Friends And Kidnapped You.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. SCATTING

lets see from a personal perspective. lets talk about how the person that hugged you when you were alone wasn't the person you were expecting, but a better one. Talk about how the water became deeper when you dipped your naked feet in. Your sneakers lied by a side of the edge; you were nearsighted as a child. Thanks to the glasses the seashore became clearer, and the moon brighter. Talk about how loud the music was. Talk about a song playing in your mind. Talk about how music's all you've had these years. "I'm not alone." You couldn't do this anymore. You can't do this anymore. You're tired of everything. Sometimes it's hard.

He understood. He looked quietly and silent to a side while the people in the crowd didn't give a damn whether you were feeling bad, whether your expectations weren't the same as in the beginning, that the fear of being let down or disappointing someone grew bigger, and you sighed letting go of that emotional grip and faked a smile, until you "made it" to the tour bus and away to other lands. Home's far away. You wonder how's he doing after all this time, you two have lost contact, maybe if you hadn't been such a dick... No, you weren't. Things went their way, that's it.

There's a wrinkle in your furrowed brow, your lips are twisting slightly and you try to relax, opening your cute brown eyes to perceive reality in an optimistic view; embracing the waves of energy and sound coming ahead -because, he taught you that nothing's too loud or too bad, right? That you should raise your weapon and confront the big deals making them small. Well, he can go fuck himself. You're not a child anymore - _his_ child. You're an adult. And you're supposed to be strong. But he's far away tonight, and he reminds you of all the failures and nightmares and not being enough; he brings the head of success and a fantasy, dream-like life, and he doesn't even try. He looks too chill to brag about anything. It's only when he opens his mouth and talks that people start to get pissed of at his sarcasm, free way of saying things, ego. He's careless. And to be honest, who would care about you, anyway? -but that's just barely what you think.

You shake your head and bangs of hair spread through your shoulders. Getting sick of these thoughts, you walk to the bar located against the fence of the backyard where a short girl of bright orange hair's standing at. She's wearing a green top, showing her boobs through her strapless underwear and chewing gum with her red mouth open. "Looking for something, honeybun?"

You peer above the colored glowing drinks displayed in various bottles, not sure if you should get one, therefore feeling guilty once your hand reaches out for a blue fluorescent can and grabs it.

"Fifteen dollars." You peer at her through the scratches of your glasses. Her face is red and, by the goggle of her eyes, you guess what she's going to say next. "Aren't you a little bit too young to be here?"

Since last year and despite of all the times you tried to put on a serious look, your short height betrayed you and, who could stay serious or mad for a long time when there was so much fun around?

The shades block most of the sun rays hitting on you from the horizon, and your hair swifts softly leaving dark locks on your forehead. A flock of doves wave away across the lavender sky. Echoes of children playing down the hill reach your ears. A dog barking. Melodic music in your back. Your fingers get cold above the wet blue glass surface.

"Not like it matters, Skrill." She winks at you and hands a five dollar bill with hearts drawn, all over. Shit. That's not your name. It's not. 'Skrill' this, 'Skrill' that; your mouth cracks in a little fake smirk, squeezing the cap of your bottle and refusing to take the bucks.

"Keep... Keep the change, I don't need-" your voice seems like it's coming from far away and as she shouts "what!?" you're able to hear something coming from the crowd gathered near the pool.

"Yo!" he comes running towards you; his crazy smile makes you step back quickly and he shoves a black boxthing into your pocket you doubtfully fetch. He shakes his head 'no' and fits his green Monster cap; never fading grin. John -known as 12Th Planet,- is staring at you with some kind of strange expectation. "It's a gift. You'll need it." Some words get tangled in your tongue and come out in a gasp that gets shut by the music, getting louder, he puts some fingers on your lips as an arm tugs yours. "You're coming with us tonight."

"But I-"

"It's just a car ride, Sonny. A _car ride_. Don't whine like a little bitch just for today," he walks you like a puppy towards the entrance of the club out of the pre party under the glances and murmurs of strangers. You wouldn't give a fuck if you were with Dillon or Porter tonight but, you feel alone, and most of them look so damn judging. Your glasses slide through your nose and you push them up, ignoring the throbbing lack of confidence and anxiety that rises. Sometimes it's hard. "Rob's waiting in the car" he says, going first down the stairway leading to the street where a white large limo's parked aside, he points at it.

You open the door unsure to give entrance to the red velvet seats with man-deodorant smell that makes you wanna strip off and space out, thinking about _his_  smell... No, what the fuck are you thinking again?

"Hey, Porter." A guy with long V-neck cut black shirt waves at you. By the dilated black pupils it's easy to tell he's been getting high all afternoon, and a sheet of sweat covers the mess of hairs on his forehead. He's carrying a cellphone and typing fast. Clearly, you have never been the cellphone type, you carried your laptop everywhere and fuck if you were regretting it lately; his iPhone was never visible or online in WhatsApp the few times you used your friends' cellphones. It's been a busy week, and you haven't talked to him. Only remember rustles of the last conversation, where you told him to fuck off after he called you a 'faggot' jokingly. "Where are we going?"

"Where do you wanna go?" John pushes you all the way through the back seat and looses his green cap, bouncing in excitement. "I was thinking of Kyoto but I ain't luggage 'ere, fuck."

"Kyoto..." you close your eyes shut. You know where's this going.

"Can we travel to NC?" Porter leaned the heavy head against his seat, getting involved in his highness, hallucinating of orange trees and anime cities at night. "Pretty sure it's raining there. Mom's cooking."

John blazes a cigarette and scribbles something in his iPod as he mumbles about a deadmau5 concert near the coast. Doesn't he know he's inside of a car? What a dick...

The window went down when Porter fell into an induced state of randomness in his speech and the next moment John was burning the seat with his lighter; people walking through the street not going to a place in particular but following their own lives. Sticking to a single rhythm. Kid, you always heard the different drum. The beats of your heart follow it, every single cell and being inside you working to keep you alive; the energy stored in them; your consciousness, your lightened up spirit; your ideas. They explode in complete harmony in a show of fireworks that happen to be in your mind when you play with the synthesizers.

These are the moments when you tend to digress if you speak, and your words become violent. Not raw. Sleek, like a melody would be, cut, like your thoughts.

The crowd can't handle your euphoria at the moment you raise your hands in the air and another thousand of people do so with you, and you feel the bass starting to drop, and your hair is a mess while your head revolves itself within the drums. You know it can be over at any minute. You're walking on a thin edge and bright lights blind you from the upper ceiling, hanging like stars; you wonder where's Rob. If he was waiting in the limo he should be on the cozy red-velvet seat skin there, with you.

Huh, it's a curious feeling. Being alone in the middle of an unknown crowd.

 

-

 

The whole day had been grey, spread of a cloud of ashes and his window was half open to let a cold breeze rape the room while he blew smoke and unclenched his fist, resting on his lap.

Necklaces, pink underwear, cat ears, girl perfume all over the room. What was the point of it, anyway? He wasn't satisfied at all and even if the room service was spectacular, the boy in the red suit was a sweetheart and resembled so much this guy he's been thinking about ever since... Ever since he can remember, but he can't remember what he ate for breakfast. Did he even have breakfast? Fuck. He sucks in the warm fog of his cigarette again.

It sucks, yes. He shouldn't think about you anymore. It's quiet difficult, he doesn't know how or where to start. He has never been this let down by someone, always getting what he wanted thanks to money and talent. Well, but money can't buy happiness. That's what poor people say, right? Guessing all the ladies from after parties can't compare to you, fucker, and though you're thousands of miles away at the moment, he has you more present than whoever is around him right now. Yeah, he sees you. Your dark eyes only lightened by the hotel room bright, blinding lights, for a second you smile shyly and he leans in to slide your shirt up and- Ah, fuck, stop it, stupid brain!

  
"Can you give me the number of this guy, Uh- what was his name again? Yeah, yeah, I think he was with Sonny the last festival. The Afro-american dude? With the cap? Planet or some shit. No, not Afrojack, dick. No, see, I just needed his number. I can't catch up with him, I don't know his name or anything. Thanks. Thank you so much- Do you have his number? Okay. Fine. Thanks again. Just, gimme a sec... Forty-eight... You were saying? No, I need it for a friend, not me. Long story. Yeah, I'm fine, why? Nope, actually, I'm in N-"

 

-

 

"New York."

Start thinking about somebody else. About Joel, staring quietly at his computer screen with a lit up cigarette hanging between his lips and cans of Coke tossed around, Meowingtons passing through, annoyed by the random sounds coming from the speakers and smell of ashes and smoke, the city behind him and himself not giving a fuck about so much beauty. He's making it. Then it's one minute to midnight, and he won't listen to you. Calling your biggest crush. Yeah. Because you would be so eager to do so. Ha. But, shit, why does he keep being so careless?

"New York. Tonight, Sonny. What d'you say about that?"


	2. SUMMIT

nights like this make you want to kill everybody, not to mention you forgot to bring the Macbook -though it wasn't needed for a short length show, anyway. the trip to New York from Los Angeles is gonna be way too long. Longer, if Porter won't talk to anyone and fall asleep on his seat and 12th Planet'll be busy on his damn phone. Ah, fuck it. The clouds from the outside will be enough entertainment for tonight.

It's not like you don't want to join them, though, New York's beautiful at midnight and fun to be with friends, you wouldn't refuse to spend some quality time, eh?

You would totally quit it. In fact, you would sue them for kidnapping you.

Your legs rest across the hallway where a blonde, annoying kid kicks the front seat and peers you along a teenager of brown hair and deep green eyes. He's wearing a black top with the OWSLA sign in white and a cap. He smirks at you. Before you smirk back, a dull prick pushes you.

"Man, do you mind if I- uh" Porter doesn't even hold himself anymore, he's just grabbing seats and stumbling to crush against the window walking before you. "Hey, I want that seat!" you yell, and now you have half of the passengers staring down on you and blush on your cheeks implying you should shut up and let him sit down.

  
"I'm sorry Sonny, I'm so sorry. I swear, I didn't notice this was the window seat, I wouldn't never do that to a friend, 'cause you're my friend and-"

  
"'Ts okay." Fuck Porter Robinson and his pot and fucking window seat.

  
A deep voice erupts in your back and sends chills down your spine; "do you want me to keep an eye on him?" John sits aside and quickly puts on the silver seatbelt tapping on the screen in front of him; changing TV channels and asking for some more with the credit card. A baby crying somewhere in the aircraft.

  
"Yeah… Why not. Heck. Why don't you take my credit card, too, John?"

  
The hostess gives you a Cheshire Cat grin and gently shoves you into your seat. There's one still empty by your side in the row of four; cheapest tickets, the ones sold one hour before the flight, five minutes before you arrived the captain had announced the take off. And then there's this asshole that screws up in big to make it in time and runs kicking everyone out of their way to put his bag pack in the upper empty boxes showing off the silver belt with th… The name 'Justice' on it. He… Oh, it's him. For sure.

  
"Sorry. The driver was russian and I'm french..." Gaspard Augé waves off the subject pulling the shades from the neck of his leather jacket leaning his back to press the call button. "Misunderstandings." The flight attendant rushes to his spot and awaits for Gaspard's quick instructions; "scotch, ice, sugar, wet glass and a plate, if possible. And quickly. Skrillex, are you?"

"Uh? Yes. Sonny."

"I got the VIP row. How nice."

"What are you doing here?"

"I had something to do in Los Angeles. Going somewhere in particular?"

"They're dragging me to New York," bangs of hair mess your view. You move them away, almost teasing as they tangle around your fingers. You notice him looking at you. Gaspard's taller than you had thought, has curlier hair and smells like cigarettes and old dude deodorant, like, Old Spice or whatever your dad uses. "'ve got nothing to do there. You?"

"Yeah, Xav- Oh" the blonde hostess with round boobs returns with a cart full of stuff. "Thank you, sweetheart."

Gaspard empties the sugar bag into the plate forming a small pile, dunks the border of the empty glass into the white mess and then proceeds to fill the recipient with ice cubs and scotch so the border of the glass is glazed. The smell of alcohol wakes you up, and the curiousness is unbearable. Just then, you realize Gaspard licks the sugar off the border as he drinks his scotch, and that's the most cool presentation you've seen so far in terms of a drink. "As I was saying- want some?"

"I'm trying to quit drinking actually."

"You have a cute giggle."

"Ha, that's- that's sweet" you try to pull of an usual smile but that blush won't let you cover up, you're just charmed.

Gaspard cleans his lips and mustache with his fingers, then lick them. "You bet. See, Xavier's in New York and getting his ass dumped from the hotel. The same as always, caught in a mess. I can't get away for a weekend without him calling back for help- I shouldn't be talking about this, anyway. It's private business."

"How can I help you?"

The older man stares blankly into the naught and stops with the glass of scotch mid-air, wondering what the fuck could you help with. He refrains static, and eventually nods unsure of himself. "Yes. Yes, you can. D'you know where I can find an open sex shop in Chinatown at these hours?"

"W… Well, I mean, yeah. Yeah, what the hell, you can google it."

"I'm a fuck up for technology."

  
"O-okay." Never mind. You're not touching that guy's belongings. "Can you... Move a bit? Need to go to the bathroom."

There's a smirk on Gaspard's face as he spreads his legs and you almost fall into his lap because of it.

 

  
-

 

  
The bathroom's lights are way too bright to belong to an airplane, and it stinks inside there, God. Why can't they clean it during flight? This happens only in tourist class. Next time you'll book an online ticket for yourself, and screw those potheads.

Good thing 3G is working thirty thousands feet above the ground, bad thing that turbulence is fucking up your steadiness, and as fast as you close the door there are two ways to protect yourself from constantly bashing the walls; grab the sticky grey plastic bar coming from the ceiling to the wall or second way, squat down while you open the browser of John's cellphone.

'Sex Shop New York Chinatown.' Yeah. You're sure you don't want a dragon dildo? Discount is so cash, though. 'Open 24 hours.' Why would that guy want a sex shop address, anyway? He can have the air hostess if he wants, like, right now. _New message._ God dammit, this is screwing up the browser. It crashed. Goddamn. There it goes. Another new message? You accidentally open the conversation...

"I fucking miss him."

Joel's number.

"Will you come see me tonight?"


	3. REASON

 

Joel composes himself and straightens his back as he looks at the paid lady in the eye. "He's really young."

 

"Ooh, a starter! Is he legal?"

"Well, he's not fuckin' underage" Joel complains, stressed. "At least not anymore. He's not even into this shit, I don't know how I'll get him here... Ugh" he takes a hand to his face, rubbing it. "Get him fuckin' drunk, or-"

"That's mean."

"I know."

"You could always ask him gently enough."

"Yeah, like" Joel nods violently, "hey, dude! Can I kindly spread your legs, man?"

The hooker smiles, taking a finger to her bottom lip. "Do you conquer girls like that, too?"

"Sometimes."

"You gotta try that one on me, then."

"Nah," Joel throws his head back. "I want only him tonight." He zips up his pants and stands up, heading to the bathroom of the suite through the red warm carpet. "Bring me a cigarette, will you? Gotta be at Littlefield in thirty, babe."

 

-

 

"What does this mean?"

"... and then this Martin Garrix faggot comes up and starts yelling-"

"John! What the hell does this mean?" 

"He spawns in the middle of the stage, cuts the drop of the song, all the public complaining, Porter goes up to him and- Slap! He just smacks the kid in the face and he gets owned in front of the crowd- What you sayin', Skrill?"

You go past Gaspard Augé bending over, chuckling so loud he's about to choke. Holding the cellphone in front of him, you confront John about the obvious, "why is he texting you?"

"What? Who?" John takes his phone back, staring at the screen and his grin mutates to a serious look- "Why are you reading my conversations?"

Fuck. "I was not reading them, the messages popped up, I had no idea that was there. Now answer me."

"Forget it. You were not supposed to- He'll kill me if you know."

"If I know- what?"

"That's the spirit! Now, sit down..." 

"I'm being serious, dick." 

"Look, Skrill... You've know Joel for longer than me, haven't you? It's pretty damn obvious he doesn't know anymore what to come up with to... y'know what I mean."

"I think I'm not grasping it, John." Gaspard represses a laugh and looks away. "You didn't tell me he was going to be in New York."

"I mentioned it back in the limo, Sonny, common!"

"It's all his plan, isn't it? Did he tell you to bring me here? And worse, you obeyed. And you didn't tell me."

John nods, twisting his lips and shrugging. Porter leans his forehead against the cold glass of the oval-shaped window, feeling like he's the one flying, no need of a plane. the sun quietly retires its statements from the horizon. Someone keeps shouting in the back of the aircraft and you bring your hands to your face, trying to ignore this mundane reality. So betrayed and used. Made of plastic. For fuck's sake, where are your friends right now? Where is he? Where are _you_?

"He made it for you, Sonny."

"What did he exactly make, Gaspard?"

"He made them lie to you. Just to see you. And travel in a plane across the country" the cross shaped silver collar shines resting on his chest. He tips his shades and a charming peace that makes you not flip out appears. This guy's made of magic. "Plus, I don't know what kind of thing's waiting for you down there but it has to be good, flying thousands of miles isn't something you do every day, is it? That guy's mad weird, though. Sure you don't want a drink?" 

The liquor bottle he has reaches your lips faster than the turbines spinning somewhere near outside. If he's had a guy like Xavier for years, you better listen to him. Although, your mind recalls all those little moments self doubt is made of. Joel simply smiling at you from under a girl, his eyes following your shaken countenance.

"It's not what you think, though, man. He..." you start, "usually makes those jokes, we're not dating or anything, you know? It's more of a bromance than anything, friend. He just likes to dick around."

"Well, you'll have something like that around in a couple of hours" Gaspard bursts out in deep french accent and John giggles bringing his hand to his mouth. Gritting your teeth, your cheeks go red and there's something written all over your face that makes Gaspard shut up.

"Joel's straight" you try to smile, "there's no way he'd put a finger on me, not even drunk."

"How come you know that?" 

"He makes it pretty fucking obvious."

You kind of clamp your hands down onto the arms of the seat and lean back. The seat belt signal light shimmers in red as the pilot announces through speakers that you're about to land -in hell, you think right away, until Porter wakes up from his decaying hallucination and calls you making gestures with his hands to see New York's skyline. Thousands of little spots of dim light flash under you, the buildings get closer. Damn, even the city's clear panoramic view tries to convince you into something you're not sure of.

"He likes you. I don't care if he's straight or bi, or if he's into furries or chairs. He likes you. And what are you gonna do about it? You like him, too." Gaspard starts to take off his seat belt. "Oh, and can you give me that sex shop address? I have some urges to attend tonight."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter is longer, I promise x.x


	4. STROBE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joel tilts his head a bit and holds tight his cup of beer, feeling you up from under your long sleeved t-shirt, his hand on your lower back, the grin on his face; the wubs from the stereos, the lights. The people. Their dances.

The moon, the clouds, the stars. Your eyes gazing up at them with the glimpse of brighter days. Sunny days. No heat, no complication, no hate. Simply the fluent sound of water drops as it hits the surface of a distant font in the airport.

You arrive to that rave in a black van; it smells like cigarette inside, and John's just drinking Speed discussing with a chick on phone. Porter fell asleep after you left the airport and your lips feel dry, and your throat's sore. You mess with the bangs on your shoulders, kind of daydreaming of the music you hear from the pilot. It isn't half bad, smooth generic jazz to drown sorrows; nothing compared to the blinding lights, the jamboree out in the entrance of Littlefield.

You have been other times in here, come on, what's wrong? Why does it look so different from the outside? So changed from other times? You shake your head ignoring John's call and open the door embracing the coldness of New York.

The ambience falls upon your shoulder after the world drifts away, and there's no time, and here you don't feel the hours pass by. This is your paradise, where space becomes small and your mind is a void, free, glowing, so pretty and shinning; breathing in the smoke and cheap fragrance of the crowd.

"Mind me taking you in?"

The baffles bring an earthquake into the room expanding to the doors of the night club in a domino effect. You don't know the name of the singer, but her voice's orgasmic and suddenly you're hit by darkness and someone thrusts you deeper into the crowd. They don't know you, your friends are gone, you're alone. You can breathe.

"Wanna dance?" his hands run up from your waist getting under your shirt, and totally freaked out, you turn around and watch Joel bite at his lower lip, then grin.

Looks like you'll drown again. Joel holds you tight against him; he's warm, he's tall, he's not letting go. "I missed you."

"This is the furthest you've gone."

"Was there turbulence in the flight? Is it jet lag?"

"I want to go back home."

"We can't, we're here now. My God, but look at you, you're beautiful like this! Mind if I get hard?"

"Step off, I'm going home!"

"Relax, Sonny-kid! I'm joking! You seriously look like some kind of hot greek douchebag. Fuck. Hey, these assholes around here don't seem to know me at all. Wanna try something fun?"

He tugs you from the arm before you can complain and strolls towards the stage; a young couple of DJs look focused at the panel of bolts and colored knobs before them, their hands fly through like living machines to casually gaze up at the crowd. Joel walks hastily making you apologize to everyone you're bumping in the way, in the middle of the clash, and as soon as you're one step away Joel jumps onto the black box of the stereo waving at the musicians. They take their caps and headphones off.

"The Mau5?" one says, loudening his voice to speak in the ear of the other. He looks at you.

"Dude, I think he's with Skrillex."

"No shit, dude. Aye!"

Joel grins widely, waving harder. "We thought we could have some minutes with these little babes" he signals the console. "D'you have some of our tracks?"

"Sure" the chubbier one nods with a violent thrust of his head, "'ve got some stuff you guys made."

"..."

"So..."

"Cool."

-

 

A fire, really? No, more like a dim spot of light, your shimmering eyes would betray you looking through the glass of the window where mainstream media gathers. You slowly switch to shades. Joel tilts his head a bit and holds tight his cup of beer, feeling you up from under your long sleeved t-shirt, his hand on your lower back, the grin on his face; the wubs from the stereos, the lights. The people. Their dances.

How has this become so normal for the two of you? First were giggles and long stares, only contests to see who'd blink first which turned into tickles, teasing, nights full of dumb video games and 'producing' in the back of tour buses who eventually came down to a first kiss. The both of you were drunk. At least you, memories recall, because there was no way Joel would do this in the serious way, would he?

You shrug it off returning a smile to the man who's playing high pitched notes in the console, making everyone once at the same time all through the club's dance floor. The young couple of DJs stare at you with some kind of respect, having a smoke from the back of the stage leaning against the wall. One nods to the music, the other swallows sharply. Where would Gaspard and Xavier be right now?

"Hey, I met that Justice guy today." Joel turns around furrowing his brow. He leaves the cup of beer and leans against you so you can speak louder, in his ear. "Gaspard Augé" you accidentally brush his hair with your lips. It smells of strawberries. Why would his hair smell like strawberries? "I think he's dating Xavier, that dude's his workmate."

"Nah, I don't think so. They're french." Joel goes back to queue two more tracks, completely ignoring you.

"I know when I say things, Joel."

"They're french. French people french kiss all the time, it's like a social law or something."

"Fuck it," you laugh so he hears. "It's not a social law, people do it to people 'cause they-"

"D'you want me to french kiss you?"

"What?"

"It feels good. And you sound like you're just jealous of them."

The young guys fold their arms behind you two and come back walking. "Guys, I hate to break it to you but we get paid to do this."

"Right" Joel lends the console taking the remains of beer from the cup and throwing it to a side. "I really like your vocals. You look like good people, here," he slides a card from his back pocket handing it to one of them. "Here's my manager's number. Call him, maybe!"

The young fella looks at it in awe before grabbing it. "Yeah, thanks... Mouse. We'll call him."

"Call him what? Mouse's manager? My name's not _mouse_ , idiots."

-

Joel takes a hard grip on your shoulders, tight. He has new tattoos. Numbers, dates, symbols, names. You wonder if he'd ever tattoo your name on his skin

"What's the R stand for?" the stack of cards inside his front pocket shows a silver and black one.

"Rich. Rad."

"Aw, don't fuck with me, man."

"Okay" he struggles to bring his knees up in a sitting position, as at the same time he has you to a side, curled and embracing you with an arm of his own over your shoulders. A bottle of beer hangs from his closed fist. "It stands for Recess."

"Recess?"

"Every time I'm with you, it's like recess."

"You're such a fuck up," you wave away the bottle of beer he's been drinking, smelling the alcoholic laugh and squinting your eyes at the low lights of the limo. And suddenly there are hands on your shades taking them off, throwing them to the floor and his damp, incoherent kiss.

"Guess, who's the fuck up to come from Cali to see me?"

"Who dragged me here in the first place?"

"Your friends" he pokes your chest with a finger. You grab his hand and twist it, jokingly.

"You fucking convinced 'em. I hate you."

"Aw, don't make me shut you up, Sonny" Joel doesn't stop grinning now, he gives you his hand and pulls you by the chest with the other in a way that makes the two of you get tangled, and the limo stops with a bump and a creaking sound. Joel reaches out for you. He falls on top of your legs, no air.

"Shit."

"Are you okay?"

"Fuck, dammit. Yes." Joel glares up at you once the limo starts moving smoothly again and he places his hand on the belt of your tight jeans, your eyes meeting in an awkward stare. "The driver's a fucking joke, isn't he?"

"Can you please...?"

"What? Fuck you up? Where's my beer?"

"Screw that, Joel. You're drunk as fuck and I want to get out of this. Did you get a lot of chicks to the hotel room already?"

"There's no one in my room right now." He becomes very sudden very serious, straightening on the black soft seat jerking his chin up. "What are you talking about? I love those chicks."

"See? You always do this, man! You bring me to after parties to make me watch you having _sex with 'em_ , makes me sick!"

"Huh? You weren't a voyeur after all?" You snap your mouth wide open with a reply before he puts a hand on your lips. It makes you rage. "I'm joking, relax."

And you do. Your back feels like melting when you lean, watching outside the black window the pretty lights of New York, streets full of people even at late night. Some guys point at the vehicle with their fingers, some with their cellphone cameras. Some even approach when you stop at red lights. You wonder how long will it take to the hotel, you hadn't a place where to stay anyways and he always offers himself when he's drunk.

"But I'm not drunk. That's bullshit, right there."

"You're so fucking drunk you can't even realize that."

"How come I'm so lucid then? I could make a whole fucking track without your help. Do you remember who I am?"

"Yes, a douchebag."

"Aye" Joel snaps, "watch it, loser. Remember who's taking who in here."

"I'm not being taken by anyone, get that?"

"And take your glasses off, it makes you look fucking ridiculous."

You bite your tongue so hard it almost makes your eyes water.

"I like your eyes."

"Fuck you."

"They're dark. You do this squint thing when you smile, it's fucking adorable."

"Fuck _you_. Let me go."

"Like I was gonna do that after I got you here, idiot."

A hand plays with the bangs of your hair. The entrance of a fancy hotel starts to appear in your sight; the guards are dressed in black suits. One of them offers himself to take the limo to the private garage before the driver shakes his head 'no', giving a shy smirk to Joel and making a peace sign, lighting a cigar before driving away to the same direction that you came from. Looks like there's no return, you murmur between your gritted teeth. Joel smiles, cheerful, and takes you inside.


	5. LONG DRIVE

 

After a long silence followed by nervous smiles and 'I missed you's, he approaches taking seat on the edge of the bed, and you stay around standing, unknowing of what he'll do next. "Fine," he runs a hand through his head taking off the black cap. His sandy-brown hair's messy, his thin lips are crooked in a 'welcome' smile.

You unwind your tense shoulders, walking slowly towards him as the red carpet beneath you becomes smooth. He's the more beautiful thing you've seen in weeks after entire crowds of beautiful people bounce, and as he takes his shirt off in slow motion he speaks; "you can sleep in my bed," throws the black shirt somewhere on the floor. You sit down and the mattress bends under you. He moves a lock of your hair tucking it behind your ear, and caresses your cheek with a thumb not so accidentally. His voice his deep and you can hear it clear and close to you.

"Can I touch you like this?"

His lips move with no intention to stop going for yours, and you try to nod as he grabs you gentle but rough and devours your mouth.

It becomes a warm, wet smooch where your lips lock every now and then, making the pleasant sound of slick heat when he flickers his tongue, making it dance around yours. Soon you take in notice the tattoos on his bare torso and the pale skin you crave to feel under the tip of your fingers; and you can't wait longer, so you put your hands on him causing a low hum coming from the back of his throat. He breaks the kiss.

"Come on, lets take 'em off," Zimmerman pushes you to peel off your shirt with a certain urgency, and proceeds with speed to undo the zipper of your kinda tight jeans ignoring the phone vibrating on the night stand. Of course he's listening to it, he's just not gonna answer. He's got first to answer something important here, someone.

"Darling, could I please use some help?"

"Y-yeah, sorry" your anxiety makes you chuckle, you sweep the hair off from your face and sit right on the edge of the bed undoing his belt. He smirks, and somewhat sympathetic says:

"We don't need that today."

"What? I thought we-" his kiss hushes you. 

"We're switching."

A light trail of kisses follow the hollow part of your neck, the middle of your chest, your belly. And past your belly he starts to slide his tongue, playing in circles, moving along the line of your plain underwear. You softly hum in pleasure at the teasing gesture of his hands lying on your inner thighs, each time more approaching to between your legs, and you can't help but clench and try to grab his shoulder, his back, something...

You choose the blanket. Your knuckles turns white and your nails sting your palm standing to attention, delivering a ticket back to reality when Joel sucks and nibbles through the underpants, himself getting hard from the situation. He stops half-through to gaze up at you and wink, then spreads open your legs to get easier access.

Now you have his head between your legs, and there's something completely wicked that his mouth does that drives you to see stars and you moan his name in a high-pitched key, closing your eyes shut, opening your mouth in half.

"Are you okay?" he pants. "I think we need to remove these" he pulls from the elastics of your underwear, and you blush. The movement goes smooth as you raise your legs up high. His ears, his short hair, his chin, he's hot; his skin touches yours so intimately, the crescendo of your moans, the tender touch. And in your mind an intense fire passes by, when his eyes occasionally meet yours, his light green ones, yours dark, pupils dilated, the vintage light lamp reflected, the mellow spreading through the room.

Joel pauses. He believes he's done well, he looks at you while panting and something tells him you're alright. When he lies on top of you, hands on both of the sides of your chest, and you feel always small when it comes to things like this; his hugs.

"Joel, don't" you say, "I got no rubbers."

He smiles. "You don't believe me when I say you're safe?" and sticks a hand inside his pockets in the front of his pants, he's hard. So you see, you try to hide a shy smile, he laughs. "Let me see you smile, common. I got all night."

"What? No, I'm sorry. I didn't think you'd have."

"You'd think I'd take advantage of you?" He pulls his pants down so they're hanging 'round his thighs, "we're not kids anymore, gotta take care, gotta pay my bills. Gotta be ready for you" his weight falls on you so he kisses under your ear, the part where it meets with your smooth neck and he whispers, making tickles explode in each part of your body and you wriggle, comfortable in your laugh. "I adore you."

"What? Dude, we're nothing."

"You're beautiful, I don't care what we are."

"You're nuts, mouse" he pinches your nipple after you say that. "Sorry, you just are."

"But you love me like that."

No need to tell now he's been aware, during this whole time, even before the flight. During the times he called drunk to prank you, tired, wearing your cellphone number on his shirt. "Leave me alone."

"You know I can't."  You look down holding your hair to a side. "We're together in this now."

He softly goes in, hushing your moans with your lower lip between both of his, digging his nails in your thigh. He grits his teeth and you see him blush for the first time, his brow furrowed, focused in every sense and contact with you.

Time and space stirs around. You're tight under him, your name escapes his lips in a muffled moan. He thrusts, once again, gaining confidence after he hits that sweet spot and your whole body spasms in response. And again, he thrusts, and there's not enough air in your lungs, breathing in the heavy air of cigarette smoke scent -then you notice a wild cold breeze and the window open -no wonder you get goose bumps on your skin,- and Joel holds you close to warm you up. At the same time he opens you wide, wanting to be as deep as he can inside you. He holds your stare, he approaches and locks lips with yours. And you become one with him. Nothing more.

 

-

 

The morning opens in the sky. The coffee maker hums in a corner of the suite. There are steamy waffles wrapped in a brown paper bag and a jar of peanut butter with a clean spoon lying on the cap.

The curtains sway with the wind as the window is slightly open, letting the freezing air blow. You wriggle, your hair covers your face and the pillow bends under your light weight; a hand caresses your waist.

"How did you sleep?"

You try to get up. He's dressed, sitting on the opposite side of where you fell asleep last night. The spot is still messy and you can't care less. His hair is messy. He's wearing a Ferrari leather jacket and has cool arrogance all over his expression. "I made us coffee and there are waffles. D'you want me to bring you something?"

You think of anything that comes to mind. This man right here could bring it for you. Anything. Absolutely anything posible. You close your eyes shut and rub one with a fist. A yawn makes you cover your mouth and you smile silently before his wait.

"I want that coffee."

"Y'already have it. Steaming hot." Joel stands up and grabs two mugs from the counters, pouring liquid into them. In the meanwhile you recover and change positions on the bed, your back against the head and sit on the- You hiss. It sores.

"You okay?" Joel calls. You blush and feel dizzy.

"Yeah, it's fucking cold here."

"Sorry I kept the window open. It smelled like cigarettes and musk everywhere."

"It smells just fine," you smile and stand up, heading towards the bathroom, ready to get that nice first shower of the day. "It smells like you."

"Not like in L.A., huh?"

"No" you turn on the taps, the floor of the shower chants with the drops of hot water. Joel comes walking towards the bathroom and leaves the mug with coffee on the sink, sitting down on the toilet with pants still on. He lights a cigarette and hangs it between his lips.

"We couldn't have done this from afar, right."

Shampoo pours over your head.

"You're here. You know that makes me so happy, right."

"Why're you telling me this?"

"I want to bring you with me, Sonny. Come to Canada. We'll have fun."

"That's impossible" you chuckle, weeping foam away from your eyes and turning your back from him. "Come to LA. Spend some days, don't you have shows there?"

"It's not about the shows... Man, I never get the chance to see you. How's John doing? How's Anthony? You don't even text." He sighs, leaves the bathroom. He closes the door.

 

-

 

In the airport he whistles at you. He has something in his hand, a white thing. Square. An iPhone. Joel smiles with sympathy and you remember John's gift from last evening and scavenge your pocket for it. It's a box with a charger in it.

"Woah, thanks Joel."

"You're welcome. Just so I can wear your number on my shirt, again."

"You-"

"I'm kidding" Joel shakes his head and smiles. He steps in and gives you a tight hug. "Take care of yourself, Sonny."

You can't do much else than murmur "thanks" and struggle to return the embrace. Young people look and point at you.

 

-

 

Back home, everything's calm. You dry your hair with a towel and throw it somewhere after checking Gaspard's twitter for news on the macbook. He says he's left for France with Xavier, you smile. A relief wave takes over you.

The iPhone lies on the coffee table of the living room. It buzzes, and the ceiling light reflects on the glass of the window, through where the sun starts to settle down.

You reach it, doubtful, and slide to unlock. There's his alias on the screen, 'mau5', and a text message.

 

_when r u going to open the fuckin door_

 

You gasp like a bucket of frozen water has been poured down on you, but still shake your head. He's a bad joker. You type fast.

 

_what? fuck you_

 

You smile. Things are going to be alright this time, you'll recover your relationship with him. Just jokes, greetings and pranking each other through the cellphone. All giggles and stuff, until someone knocks.

 

 


End file.
